Crimson Tears and Distant Dreams
by Quinn A. Fitzgerald
Summary: Plot follows the life of a young woman from Haradwaith as she seeks a place to belong. First story I've ever finished! And yes, it IS finished, I won't leave you hanging. Rating is for violence in later chapters. Please R&R!
1. Where the Heart Is

From the journal of Nilûma Nardûnegâda

I am Lûma Nardûnegâda. I'm ten years old, and I have black hair and dark brown eyes, like most everyone I know does. Even though I've never looked any different, I've always felt a bit out of place here in Haradwaith. It's not that I don't have friends, I do, plenty of them. Both of my parents are alive, even though my Da often goes off to battle, and we don't always know that he'll come back. Fortune's been kind to us so far, though. I'm happy here, honestly, I am. But something has just always felt...not right. Today, I got the sense that I don't really belong. Da says I'm weak, and I know he's right, but I can't stop feeling that something's wrong, something's amiss, that I don't fit in and never will...

Lûma picked up the stone, wrapped in grass and tied with string, and tossed it into the air. She watched as her friend, Daurlong, caught it, leaping into the air to snatch it from its path.

"Fine catch!" she called. Daurlong beamed. Lûma liked Daurlong, she always had. He'd been her friend since she was very small. He had no doubts about his place here in Haradwaith, he was the son of the village leader, and he took his responsibilities as such very seriously. He was to be a warrior someday, and he was learning so now. There was nothing he wanted more than to march to battle at his father's side, and slay the enemy with the fierce skill of the Haradrim. Lûma admired him for that. She considered Daurlong the person she had always wanted to be, but never expected to become. There was something in her that seemed a bit more timid, not so brash and lofty as the others. Lûma was quite ashamed of this. She was of Haradrim blood, not some weak child of the north. She had always promised herself that she'd live up to that, but she didn't quite know where to start.

"My turn!" she called, and readied herself as Daurlong flung the stone into the air. She caught it just before it hit the ground, and stumbled as she did so, falling to her knees as she tripped over an uneven patch on the ground. Daurlong was at her side in an instant, but Lûma was already up, hurrying towards a group of the other village boys and girls who were all peering at an object in front of them. "What is it?" she asked, pushing her way through the crowd. "What's there?"

She came through, and saw a small object on the ground. It took her a moment to identify it as a bird, obviously dying, but not yet having breathed its last. It let out a faint 'Pheep' as one of the children tossed a small pebble at it.

"Don't!" Lûma protested, pushing the girl who had thrown it. "Why?"

"Why not?" the girl replied, and tossed another.

"Stop!" Lûma pushed her harder. "It's not right."

"Lûma, it's just a bird." Daurlong said, catching her by the arms. "Don't start a fight over it. It's going to die anyway."

"That doesn't matter!" Lûma protested, wriggling free. One of the other children lifted a stick over his head. Lûma looked away as he brought it down on the bird, and she twisted away, running towards her home as fast as her legs would carry her. Tears came to her eyes, blurring her sight as she walked, and she sat down hard on the doorstep when she reached her house. She cried softly, until her mother came out of the door, and looked down at her.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked. Lûma explained, and her mother sighed.

"That's all? I thought you were hurt. Come eat your dinner."

"But mam, they killed it..." Lûma protested, standing up and following her mother indoors.

"Things die. It's the way of life. You will learn to live with it. I hope you shall, or you shall be no daughter of mine." Her mother prodded her towards the wash basin. Lûma forced the frown off of her face as her father and three brothers entered from the side door. They had been hunting, she could tell, for though they had washed, she could see the faint stain of blood on their hands. She took her seat at the table, and remained silent, as she usually did.

_Mam's right. It was only a bird. But all I know is that I'm not as strong as she seems to want me to be. And what scares me the most is that I'm not sure I even really want to. I know that death is supposed to send some sort of satisfaction to my heart, that's what they've told me, the enemy's death is our glory, but I don't love death, I can't. I've tried. Whatever powers be, they know I've tried. I think it was today when I realized that what I've been trying to be isn't something I want to become. I don't know what to do. I want to tell Daurlong, I think he'd understand. At least, I know he's the only one who might. Even if he is supposed to grow up and be just like his father. Even if he does want to. I'm so confused. I don't know what to do, and I don't even know where to look to find out. Writing isn't helping, though, and if Mam sees the light of the candle, she'll be in here sooner than I can blow it out. Good night, Journal._


	2. Who You Want to Be

From the journal of Nilûma Nardûnegâda

_Today I turn sixteen. Today I come of age. Today, I, Lûma Nardûnegâda, am free to leave this place which heretofore I have called my home. I have waited so very long for this day to come. _

Lûma gave the long strip of cloth which wrapped around her head a firm tug, and fastened it. The crimson cloth did not entirely cover her dark hair which, in spite of the urging of most everyone she knew to cut it short, spilled from underneath the turbanesque headdress all the way down to her lower back. The sunlight streamed in through the window, casting her olive-toned skin in a glowing light. Lûma surveyed her reflection in the wash basin, and decided that she looked as much like someone turning sixteen as she could. That would do, she sighed, and came out of the room into the main room of the house. Her mother was cleaning the scraps of meat off of the bones for stew, and Lûma realized that her father and brothers must have already gone out.

"Rising late today, aren't we?" her mother said, glancing at her. "But I see you've taken the time to make yourself look acceptable. That's good, I suppose. Daurlong will be at the gathering tonight, won't he?" Lûma shrugged.

"I don't know why he wouldn't." Lûma still thought of Daurlong as her best friend, and it did not occur to her immediately what her mother was implying. In fact, the thought did not cross her mind until she had already stepped out the door and into the street. When it did, she merely laughed to herself, and sighed, reasoning that her mother was trying to marry her off as soon as she could. Mam had always viewed her the most difficult of her four children.

Lûma had been planning the events of this day for every day of the past three years, at the very least. The gathering that night, of the village people, would be a bonfire. The men would bring in their day's hunt, and in front of the village leaders, Lûma's father would pronounce her a woman. Lûma was not sure how accurate that would be, she still felt as if she had quite a lot of growing up to do, but it meant that she could go where she willed. To be honest, she was not sure where she intended to go when she left Haradwaith. It was all she had ever known. But she was certain that it was not all she ever wanted to know, not all she wanted to be.

She could not imagine what the expressions upon the faces of those who knew her would be tonight when she told them that she would be leaving. They would ask her why, and she would not have a reason to give but that her heart told her she must. And that would not be accepted. Haradrim did not trust their hearts, but their minds and instincts to guide them in life and battle.

Lûma spent a long time simply walking the fields surrounding the village, and the day passed quicker than she had imagined it would. When the sun began to set, she turned her path towards the center of the village and made her way to where she could see several families gathering already. These gatherings were made once a year, these councils, of sorts, at which the village leaders gathered and addressed anything which needed to be discussed. That included the coming of age announcements. One more day, Lûma thought, and she would have missed this year's, as Daurlong had missed last year's, though he was almost six months older than her. There were two others who would be sharing it with them, but Lûma did not know them well.

Taking a seat on one of the large stones which encircled the newly-started bonfire, she reflected upon how many nights she had been here...nine that she could remember, though she imagined her parents had brought her when she was small, beyond her memory. And now it was her turn, and this was the last night she would remain in this place. Truth be told, she would miss it, for it was her home, regardless of how great her longing to be gone.

Lûma was pulled from her reverie by the seven beats of the drum which signified the beginning of the council. She watched the fire, even as the others arrived in families or pairs, and Daurlong's father began to speak. She felt a nudge, and started, glancing to her side to see Daurlong. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, his father called his name.

"Daurlong, my son. Tonight, you are recognized as a warrior of the village. You will come and go with the warriors, you will be bound by blood to the warriors. Come forth, and show your blood." He held a shining, newly made dagger, blade first, out towards Daurlong, who stood and took it, and held his hand above the fire.

"I am a warrior." he said, beginning the usual speech. "By my blood, I am a warrior, the son of a warrior, and I shall be the father of many warriors." He brought the blade to his palm, and made a neat slice, bright blood springing forth to fall in the fire. After a moment, his father nodded, and he took his seat next to Lûma.

Her name was called next, and she stood.

"Nilûma Nardûnegâda, you are tonight recognized as a warrior. Come, and by your blood, become a warrior until such time as you may bear many warriors in your stead."

Lûma froze. She could not find it in her heart to take an oath which she knew she would break in a matter of hours. She stood, but slowly shook her head.

"I will not. I will be gone."

For a moment, nothing could be heard but the sound of the fire, snapping away the last traces of Daurlong's blood. Then, her father spoke.

"If that is your wish, Nilûma, you will indeed be gone, for you shall never return home."

"I do not intend to." Lûma turned, and slipped away from the fire's light, into the shadows.


End file.
